


To Hell and Back

by moshimochi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Linhardt von Hevring/My Unit | Byleth, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rating May Change, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26383045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moshimochi/pseuds/moshimochi
Summary: The light of the morning never reaches their little hideaway in Abyss, but the view of Yuri putting on tea wearing nothing but one of Balthus’s old tunics makes his chest feel brighter than any Earthly sunrise.It’s the kind of sight a man could get used to.It’s the kind of sight a man would be willing to die fighting for.As the dawn of the final battle approaches, Balthus thinks about the things important to him in this life.
Relationships: Balthazar von Adalbrecht | Balthus von Albrecht/Yuris Leclair | Yuri Leclerc
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	To Hell and Back

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Please mind all of the tags, but don't let them scare you too much - this is angst with a happy ending. If you have not completed Verdant Wind route, please also be aware that this fic has major spoilers for the ending! thank you to kait & faith for beta reading and for balthuri discord pals for hyping me up (´∀｀)♡

The Professor is here with the dark green-haired nosy fella whose name he always forgets, the one who’s all too eager to get his hands on his and the other Wolves’ blood. The Professor and Yuri are talking in hushed tones over a library desk with a large map on it, while the other guy is sticking his nose in a book across the room. Balthus thinks he should duck out of the room before he notices that he’s here and demands a blood sample for his Crestology stuff, but Yuri is going over strategy for the upcoming battle that’s supposed to end the war, and Balthus might as well stick around for moral support or whatever. Mostly, he wants to see if Yuri wants to hit up the tavern before they head in for the night - by the way how the strategy planning is going, it seems like he’ll need a pint or two.  
  
Balthus had heard about Nemesis in the legends, the few teachings of Saint Seiros ingrained in him since his childhood as a young noble that hasn’t faded away from time, booze, or too many knocks to the noggin. Mostly, the guy has a cool name. Not as cool as the Almighty King of Grappling, but “the King of Liberation”, but it’s still got a decent ring to it. Names aside, the guy apparently messed up Holst real bad, and that’s a thought that sends a ripple of discomfort down Balthus’s spine. 

Holst is probably the only guy in the world who could take Balthus in a good ol’ fashioned fist fight, so the fact he got his lights knocked out _and then some_ is enough to make Balthus second guess a few things. He’s glad his old buddy is okay, but _goddess be damned_ , what kind of monster is Byleth sending them up against this time _?_ He trusts the Professor, he trusts Yuri with his life and soul, but all of this leaves a bad taste in his mouth. 

Now, not to say that he’s chickening out - Balthus has never backed down from a physical fight. Hell, a few years back he punched out a giant bird beast by himself, then later beat whatever Aelfric turned into after having the literal life force sucked out of him, and lived to tell the tale!   
  


Still, though.

  
He looks over at Yuri, violet eyes scanning over the map, glossed lips pursed and brows drawn in concern. Yuri, who has more brains than the whole underground combined, and can put enough brawn behind a swing of a rapier to slice a guy’s head clean off his shoulders. Who can organize a group of bandits to run the underground just as well he can command a battalion on the battlefield, flanking his enemies with speed and poise. 

Yuri, who’s smaller than Holst, more fragile than Holst. 

Balthus licks his lips, tries not to hold the book he’s pretending to look at too tight, restrains his leg from jiggling with pent up tension and anxiety. 

Yeah, something about this next battle ain’t feeling too good. 

\---

Balthus snores himself awake some time later once Yuri and the Professor are wrapping up their discussion, jerking up out of his seat out of instinct. He’s greeted with a delightful peal of laughter and fond eyes looking at him, the kind of smile Balthus only gets to see from Yuri when he’s making a fool of himself. The Professor doesn’t react to the sudden commotion, of course, only stares at him blankly while holding a pile of books that his partner has collected. 

“We’ll talk later, Professor,” Yuri says, shaking his head at Balthus and tucking the map under his arm. “I’ll make sure Balthus makes it back to his room without passing out in the hallway.”  
  
“It was one time,” Balthus grumbles, stretching his arms behind his head with a yawn. He doesn’t miss the way Yuri’s eyes watch his muscles move. “And I was drunk.”

“Hm,” Byleth says, and adds nothing more.

“This is a wonderful library for naps,” the Professor’s partner comments, nodding sagely to himself. “The dim lighting and sounds of water dripping could easily put me to sleep.”

Yuri squints up at the ceiling with distaste, looking for whatever leaking crack needs filling again.

“Well, we’ll be on our way,” the Professor says, nodding to him and Yuri before moving towards the hallway. He stops and calls back for his partner, who’s still tracing his finger along the cracked book spines within the shelves. “Let’s go, Linhardt.”

“Coming,” _Linhardt_ says, grabbing one last musty novel from the wall and following behind him. He doesn’t look up from the cover of the book at all, just trails behind Byleth without acknowledging the rest of them. Well, that’s fine. Not like Balthus is particularly chummy with him either.

When the two of them leave and now they’re alone together, Balthus notes how Yuri’s mask drops an incremental amount. To the untrained eye, Yuri might look as calm and composed as ever, but Bathus knows better. He’s no bird with a broken wing, but Balthus can see the way Yuri’s eyes look tired.   
  
“You all right, Boss?”  
  
“Peachy.” Yuri says, perfectly manicured fingers coming to rub his temple. ‘Manicured’ - Yuri taught him that word.  
  
Balthus pats his lap invitingly, spreading his legs wide enough for Yuri to have a seat.  
  
“We’re in public,” Yuri scoffs, but it has no bite to it.  
  
“Most ladies would jump on a chance to take a ride on the Colossal King of Grappling’s lap!” Balthus says, smug grin easily stretching across his face.  
  
“Oh, yeah?” Yuri raises his eyebrows. “Well then, I solemnly regret to inform you that I’m not ‘most ladies.’ Perhaps you should try your luck at the pub.”  
  
“Heh, I know. S’what I like about you.”  
  
And it’s true - Balthus has always attracted men and women alike, with his ruggedly handsome good looks and stellar abs, but he never considered himself swingin’ for the other team. Not til Yuri. Something about his androgynous appearance, sharp tounge, glossed lips with a coy smile that plays hard-to-get… It all makes his skin itch and burn like he’s bathing in the fires of Aillel.  
  
That’s the game he and Yuri always play, push-and-pull. Yuri can act disinterested in Balthus’s advances, but it only takes a few nudges now till he opens up. And it wasn’t always like this, Yuri used to be reserved and deceptive, never letting any of the Wolves get too close. Balthus learned the reason why the hard way. 

But after that business with Aelfric was done, and Balthus maybe got a punch in for him being such a lil’ shit that whole time, things between them were a little more even. Yuri still likes his privacy, still has things Balthus isn’t sure he’ll ever tell the truth about. But that’s alright, just as long as Yuri lets him in on occasion, leans on him when he needs it. That’s all Balthus needs.  
  
He gets up from his chair, walks up and into Yuri’s personal bubble. Yuri doesn’t reel back, just meets Balthus’s gaze from under those long black lashes. They stare each other down until Yuri gives, leaning his head against Balthus’s shoulder. Immediately, Balthus brings his hand to entangle in Yuri’s hair, holding him close against his chest.  
  
“You sure you’re okay, pal?” He lets his fingers brush through silky lavender locks, so luxurious it feels wrong for someone like him to touch.

Yuri sighs into the bulk of his arm. “I need to think about how to approach this next battle. There are so many preparations to make before we head out, for the battalions and for Abyss…” He trails off with a sigh.  
  
“Maybe you don’t have to do all that,” he says, feeling the edge of nerves creep into his voice despite his will. “Heh, I know what I do when things go to shit.”  
  
Yuri huffs a laugh. “We can’t run away from this fight, Balthus.”

“Not we,” he says, still petting his head. “Just you.”  
  
Yuri pulls back, eyes piercing. That killer look would make anyone shake in their boots, but Balthus stands stock still. “Pardon, friend?”   
  
“This Nemesis guy… He hurt Holst real bad. Barely made it out in one piece. Hilda can help out with managing Goneril territory, but…” He meets Yuri’s sharp expression with an equal amount of unbudging strength. “You’re one of a kind, pal. Abyss needs you.” He knows Yuri will object, maybe smack him upside the head, but he needs to finish his thoughts before he forgets his words. “I know that you’re the guy who calls the shots, and I’m the guy who follows em’-“  
  
As expected, Yuri tries to cut him off. “Balthus-”  
  
He doesn’t let him. “But you ought to consider that this could get real bad. Real ugly.”  
  
“You think I haven’t considered that? You’re smarter than that, _friend_ . You know I’m not someone who makes a move without calculating the costs and benefits first,” Yuri starts, and if Balthus were in a better mood, he’d make a remark about how cute it is when Yuri puffs up like a real pissed off cat. It only lasts a moment, though, before Yuri deflates again. “But I would be lying if I said I could have predicted this. And you’re right, this is something we’ve never been up against before. I don’t know what to make of it, and I don’t like it,” Yuri says, and Balthus appreciates that he’s letting himself be vulnerable. He draws Yuri back in again, wrapping his arms around him tight. 

“You still think we can win though?” He says, putting his chin on Yuri’s head.

Yuri only fusses for a moment before accepting the hug with resignation. “I’m good at predicting the odds… But the revival of a long dead king from a legend certainly is a wildcard,” he says with a sigh. “I have faith though,” he adds, voice a little steadier. “I trust in the Professor to make the right calls here. And Claude too, I suppose.”

And he’s right, the Professor hasn’t gotten any of the Wolves killed _yet_ , and Claude inherited his crafty but reliable nature from his knockout of a mom. Hell, they beat the Imperial Army under their leadership- but was it enough to take on some undead demon king? Their victory over the Empire was nothing short of a religious miracle, but taking on Nemesis seems a mite too supernatural for Balthus to be gung-ho about. 

He gives Yuri more time to talk, but silence, accompanied by the faint _drip drip drip_ of water, fills the library with a chill in the air.  
  
“Well, guess I can’t convince you otherwise,” Balthus says, gentler and softer against Yuri’s hair. His lips brush across the crown of his head. “I’d follow you to hell and back, Boss.”  
  
He feels Yuri smile, a small and somber thing, against the exposed skin of his chest.  
  
“I know.”

___

Something in the damp and stagnant air of Abyss feels off-kilter when they return to their chambers that night. The knowledge that this night could be their last - Nemesis’s army could land on their doorstep any day now - weighs heavy on their shoulders, settled only by the numbing comfort of ale. Since it seems like this night might as well be one of the last nights of their lives, half of Yuri’s gang is holed up in the Wilting Rose Inn, getting shitfaced and exchanging tales of bravado to allay their anxieties. And of course, Balthus can’t say no to a pint or two, and Yuri can’t say no to Balthus when he gives him the ol’ smolder, so they washed down the lumps in their throats with cheap alcohol. Not enough to get a hangover, but enough to ease the bite of bile that stirs in their stomachs if they think too hard about their odds of survival whenever Claude and the Professor make the call to head out. Later that night after he and Yuri eased their way down Burrow Street and the corridors of Abyss, the further they left the light and lazy laughter of the tavern, the more an odd quietness filled the underground atmosphere. 

Balthus always hoped that if he ever reached the end of his rope, his last night would be filled with booze (check) and outrageous sex (maybe). He surmises that bangin’ out your frustrations is a tried and true tactic as any, but tonight they ease under the covers and simply lay together in the dark, siphoning each other’s warmth. He starts to wonder if he should make a move, or if maybe Yuri doesn’t want to walk with a limp into battle if Balthus takes ‘im like how Yuri usually wants it. Before his mind can wander too far, Yuri rolls over and splays himself across Balthus’s chest.  
  
“Yuri?” Balthus asks, cupping his palm against the naked curve of Yuri’s waist. It fits like his relic Vajra-Mushti, carved and made for his hands.  
  
“Mm,” Yuri hums in acknowledgement, soft hands trailing down Balthus’s chest. He paints pictures with his fingers, tracing squiggly patterns across Balthus’s abs, dipping into the concaves of his muscles. It feels damn nice, just straddling the line between arousing and making Balthus feel like a sleep spell is settling over his bones.  
  
“You trying to get me going, pal?” Balthus says, giving Yuri an appreciative squeeze.  
  
“Maybe.” Yuri sits up against his chest, moving his wandering hands to give light little scratches on Balthus’s sideburns and stubble. Kinda reminds him of how one might pet a loyal dog, but hell if he’s not one happy pup right now with such a gorgeous master to cuddle up with him at night.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
The flickering candle light picks up stray bits of glitter that have stubbornly clung to Yuri’s eyelashes despite having washed up earlier. Even without the glitz and the glam Yuri usually puts on… Balthus doesn’t know what the Goddess looks like, but he reckons she might have taken a few pointers from Yuri. The Boss has always been an absolute bombshell, but it’s strange - ever since he’s picked up the breadcrumbs of Yuri’s past and got acquainted with his secretly too big and caring heart, he feels more smitten for the guy every day. It’s not just the looks, or the pretty paints and imported perfumes he artfully camouflages himself with every day, it’s something about his soul. Heh, maybe that’s sappy - Yuri would bust his balls over it if Balthus ever spoke that out loud. But if he were the leader of the Church, he’d make Yuri a saint for more reasons than one. 

“Make me feel you,” Yuri whispers with quiet desperation, low like he doesn’t want even the Goddess to overhear him speak. It’s for Balthus and Balthus only.

But he gets it. When you never know who’s going to be holding a knife to your throat the next day, whether it’s knights, bounty hunters, assassins, holding onto somebody real tight is the only way to keep your feet planted in the present. Makes you feel _real_.

He kisses a bruise into the pulse of Yuri’s neck, blooming a smattered crimson. “I got you, love.”

Balthus wasn’t sure how this night would play out, but it’s sugary and familiar like the cubes of sugar Yuri takes with his tea. He holds Yuri’s hips tight while Yuri captures his lips with an even tighter embrace around his neck, lazily rocking on top of him like they’ve got all the time in the world.

It’s not an explosive and rowdy coupling like two star-crossed lovers with nothing to lose, but instead something gentler. Maybe it's a promise, then, for a future which holds this kind of tenderness every night. 

\---

The light of the morning never reaches their little hideaway in Abyss, but the view of Yuri putting on tea wearing nothing but one of Balthus’s old tunics makes his chest feel brighter than any Earthly sunrise.   
  
  
It’s the kind of sight a man could get used to.  
  
  
It’s the kind of sight a man would be willing to die fighting for.

\---

Faster than anyone in the army would like it, the dawn of the battle against Nemesis comes barreling into their worldview like a meteor shower, the big shebang that will end the war once and for all. Troops everywhere scuttle about in a way that reminds Balthus of frenzied ants, making last minute preparations, saying farewell to friends they hope to still see at the next dawn.

Byleth ordered the Wolves and their battalions to creep up on the side from the main assault, acting as a flank against enemies who manage to evade the forward momentum of the Golden Deer. Balthus doesn’t understand much about strategy, he’s good at barreling in and just start sluggin’, but it seems as of late he’s good at following orders too. He reminds himself that Yuri hasn’t gotten him killed _yet_ , Byleth hasn’t gotten the Wolves killed _yet_ , Byleth hasn’t let Yuri get offed _yet_. It’s a mantra he repeats as he sits on the ground, checks his gear, and scrapes off any last bits of blood stuck to Vajra-Mushti just so he can go get ‘em messed up again. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Byleth speaking to Yuri, the Professor showing no signs of fear or hesitation on his face, serious and unemotive as always. The Ashen Demon - a damn cool name too, given to a mercenary who kills with apathy and indifference. Yuri looks fine as hell, as per usual - he woke up especially early this morning to do his eyeliner _just right_. And he understands it, really. He’s never personally been one for good luck charms or pre-battle routines, but he did tousle his hair and check himself out a bit in the mirror before they left the monastery. Yuri might not admit it, but you fight better when you feel smokin’ hot, it’s a fact.

After a moment, the Professor claps his hand on Yuri’s shoulder and a gentle expression washes over his face, a hint of softness that Balthus realizes he has never seen the guy wear before. The Professor gives a small bow to Yuri, and the emotion is gone from his smile in an instant. And just like that - Byleth’s slunk away back into the crowd of troops.

Yuri catches him staring and motions for Balthus to join him, lowering his voice when he approaches. “The Professor has a request for us.”  
  
Balthus snorts. “Taking on an undead army isn’t enough?”  
  
“Are you scared, Balthus? Need me to hold your hand?” Yuri jokes, and the banter is almost familiar enough for Balthus to trick himself into thinking that this is just another brawl that they’ll blaze through with ease. Almost.  
  
“Might as well. You’d better not stray too far, in case your burly bodyguard needs to save your ass.” Balthus stands up, flexes his massive biceps a bit. Winks over his shoulder to the pegasus knight looking at him, who immediately colors red and turns away. Heh.  
  
Yuri smacks his arm down. “Stop that.”  
  
“C’mon boss, I gotta give the ladies something to fight for! Maybe the men, too.” He grins, popping his pecs.  
  
“Goddess, what am I going to do with you? You really are a catch, Balthus,” Yuri sighs with melodrama, covering his forehead with the back of his gloved hand, like a wooed maiden. The lighthearted mood immediately simmers down as calls are made for the troops to begin marching forward, down towards the fields at the base of Garreg Mach. He and Yuri stand still and watch the forward momentum gather around them for a moment, like stones parting the middle of a moving stream. The stillness is broken as Yuri’s hand brushes over the smooth side of his gauntlets and he starts to speak again. “The Professor requested that we watch out for the unit of long-range healers who will be positioned a bit behind us.”

“Sure,” Balthus says, because it makes sense. He and Yuri can both heal alright, but neither can help out Constance when she’s doing her thing up in the air, they need people suited for long-distance faith magic like that. Balthus glances back to see who’s in the group of healers they need to keep an eye on, and is met with the face of Linhardt, who’s visibly lacking any enthusiasm or morale today. 

Linhardt reminds him a lil’ of Yuri, in a way - smooth skin, silky hair, pretty face, and usually the smartest fella in the room. But while Yuri has been sharpened by his childhood and is pretty like an ornate dagger, Linhardt’s face reminds him of those baby angels in old Church paintings that are always flyin’ around the Goddess. Soft, innocent, and completely out of place in a warzone. Then he thinks of Byleth, the rare smile he gave Yuri after sharing his request for protection. 

  
The Ashen Demon. Maybe the name isn’t quite so fitting after all.  
  
  
“Let’s move out,” Yuri calls out as he starts walking, grabbing the attention of a sulking Constance grounded on her pegasus and Hapi on her steed. The girls trot over to Yuri as they begin descending down Garreg Mach’s hilly terrain together, watching the horizon line for the enemy. Any vulnerability he might have seen earlier from Yuri the man is gone, replaced by Yuri the leader, kingpin of the underground. He grins like a wolf about to move into a kill when he raises his fist in the air. “Let’s show our guests what Abyssians have to offer.”

\---  
  
The terrain of the battlefield has transformed into a ghastly swampland, poisonous smog hanging heavy in the air. It looks straight out of a storybook, a cursed forest that’s haunted by unthinkable nightmares, the kind of ghost story parents would read to kids in Goneril Territory to scare ‘em from going into the woods at night. The picture is completed not just by the enemy dark mages, stark white and ghoulish, but also by the mysterious figures holding amalgamations of weapons that look frighteningly like Hero’s Relics. They have the same disturbing design, bones which creak and shudder like they’re living organisms in the throes of death. Notably, the weapons give off a different kind of light compared to Byleth’s Sword of the Creator or Claude’s Failnaught. Instead of orange light, each weapon casts a darker, angrier, bloodier red shadow.  
  
Like most battles, everything goes according to plan, until it doesn’t.  
  
Things are going swimmingly as he and the rest of the Wolves are charging through the eastern side of the field, picking off stray dark mages as they make their way to a spellcaster who Yuri predicts is manipulating the terrain into the swampland. Although the stakes are high, once they get into a groove, the adrenaline from fighting by Yuri’s side is an incredible kind of high. They move like they’re dancing, only it’s with his fists and Yuri’s rapier, topping mounted soldiers and pounding dents into armor. With almost laughable ease, Constance calls down a bolt of lightning which turns the mage into a crumbling pile of black ashes, and the swamp evaporates. He hears Hapi cheer, and he can’t help but also let out a howl of elation as the Wolves ravage through their enemies, and he thinks Yuri looks beautiful with disheveled hair and painted in the orange glow of Vajra-Mushti.

The triumphant spell is broken when they hear a blood-curdling screech and turn to see a wyvern rider throwing an Alliance gremory over the edge of a cliff, falling into the depths of the smog. Before they can move fast enough, the wyvern’s glowing red axe cuts through the side of one of Yuri’s men, and they collapse to the ground in two halves. The Wolves move to descend upon the wyvern rider with vengeance and fury, only to see the ghastly soldier move to corner a priest pinned against a rock formation, his doll-like blue eyes wide in terror. Linhardt.  
  
Balthus doesn’t think, just moves as he feels the power in his blood overwhelm him, surging enough strength in his legs to crash into the grounded wyvern and pierce the neck of the beast with his gauntlet, black blood spattering against his arms and face. The rider rolls off unharmed, but Linhardt has an opening to skitter away, catching Balthus’s eyes for only a moment as he tries to run and regroup with other Alliance soldiers.  
  
It’s too late, though. They quickly become surrounded with enemies, who circle Balthus and Linhardt like vultures, while the undead soldier rises to his feet with jolting inhuman movements. Balthus immediately draws up his fists, uses his bulk to guard the priest the best he can.  
  
“Stay behind me,” he grunts out, bouncing on his feet, eyeing where the next blow might come from first.  
  
“You’re insane,” Linhardt says with a shrill tenor, but nonetheless begins casting a charge of fire at the advancing enemies. “You should have left me. You’ve only accomplished killing yourself, too.”  
  
“Nah,” Balthus says with confidence, “The Wolves’ got my back.”  
  
With that, he hears the flap of pegasus wings above, hurtling beams of ice at the dark mages surrounding them, followed by the gallop of Hapi’s horse with an additional rider of Yuri. He doesn’t have time to wave a jolly hello or get his ear chewed off by Yuri and Hapi, however, because the undead soldier with the glowing axe starts to charge towards him. Balthus knows Vajra-Mushti was made to take a beating, so he lets the unholy weapon reflect from the side of his gauntlets, sending a spray of sparks into the air. When the warrior rears back for another swing of his axe, Balthus lands a particularly nice undercut against the warrior’s head, sure enough to break the neck of any man. 

“Bow to the king!” He whoops, shaking out his wrist. “Let’s keep ‘em coming, I’ll show them how it’s done!”

Disinterested in praising the Exalted King of Grappling for saving his ass, Linhardt peers around Balthus’s side, eyes scanning over the guy with the axe. “That Crest on his armor… Dominic of the Ten Elites?”

Balthus doesn’t have time to ask Linhardt about his impromptu history lesson, because there’s another adversary headed their way from behind. He pushes Linhardt aside and moves to go punch the daylights out of the approaching enemy swordsman, when he hears Yuri shout his name in a tone he’s never heard Yuri use before.  
  


It’s at that exact moment when he remembers that the warrior, _Dominic_ , isn’t a mortal man. 

Dominic is upright again and rolling his broken neck back into place with a sickening _crack_ , and Balthus can see his own stupefied expression in the reflection of a raised axeblade. 

Balthus never really cared much about his own life, to be frank. Sure, he wasn’t itching to be a deadman, but kind of expected things to end this way with his _live hard and fast_ lifestyle. It was only a matter of time before he didn’t run quick enough and a bounty hunter caught up to him, or a brawling match with a demonic beast went wrong, or an enemy used some dirty trick and got the better of him. Hilda used to chastise him during meals at the dining hall for being so lackadaisical about his own mortality, but death happens to everybody eventually! No point in denying the inevitable, yeah?

Balthus may be dumb, but he’s not stupid enough to think he can finagle his way out of a visit from the grim reaper like how he does with any other kind of debt collector. So all in all, he can’t say he’s surprised it’s going down this way. But even an idiot like him thinks for a final moment that he hopes the rest of the Wolves make it out of here, Yuri can live on, and he even hopes Linhardt reunites with Byleth when this is all over with. At least somebody in Fodlan gets a happy ending outta of this. 

What he doesn’t expect, however, is a hand which yanks his collar back with considerable strength, sending Balthus sprawling backwards on his ass and away from the downswing of Dominic’s axe. The person who swapped with him, however, isn’t so lucky.  
  


In the folktales from Kupala his mother used to tell him at night, he remembered how heroes always die valiant deaths, martyrs with departing words of wisdom which inspire their allies to defeat the bad guys. 

  
But this is real life, and all of the air leaves Balthus’s chest as the cursed axe impales itself into Yuri’s. There’s no shining moment of glorious chivalry or poetic last words, only Yuri choking out a bloody gurgle before the axe is pulled out of him, and he slumps to the ground in a mess of blinding crimson. Balthus clambers next to Yuri’s body, not even registering how Yuri’s blood has pooled onto the swampy grass and stains Balthus’s hands and knees, but it’s all too late. Yuri’s half-opened eyes stare unseeing into the heavens, lips stained scarlet over pink gloss. 

Balthus wants to cry, wants to throw up, wants to kiss Yuri one last time while he’s warm from his last breath, but instead he distantly feels himself struggle to his feet and charge at Dominic with animalistic speed. 

He tackles the motherfucker to the ground with a scream of agony, and feels like he’s watching himself from afar as he pounds into the axeman with his gauntlets incessantly. The guy might be dead again already, but it doesn’t matter, he keeps beating his face until he’s an unrecognizable pulpy mess of black goo. There’s blood all over him, burning red and onyx, but he can’t stop the talons of Vajra-Mushti entering the axeman’s face and neck over and over and over. He gets lost in it, and he vaguely registers the horrible sobbing sound ricocheting in his ears is coming from _his_ chest, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop until Vajra-Mushti disintegrates in his hands, and then he’ll keep going until the bones in his fists crumble along with it too.   
  
He hears someone scream for the Professor, followed by the sensation of at least three arrows stinging with dark magic lodging themselves into his shoulder and back, but it doesn’t matter. What does anything matter if he couldn’t protect the person who he loves? Never again will Yuri chastise him, laugh at him for failing miserably at cards, run his hands over Balthus’s stubbly jawline. They’ll never sleep together again, hold each other in the afterglow until sunrise. Balthus will never again feel the way how Yuri kisses when he’s awarding him for winning a brawl tournament, how he kisses him chastely in the halls of the underground when nobody’s around to see, how he kisses him with longing when they’ve been apart for too damn long.  
  
The knowledge of this cramps his chest so tightly it’s a surprise he doesn’t keel over and die right then and there. How did he think he could protect Yuri when deep down, he’s always been a worthless good-for-nothing, failure of an heir and son, so utterly useless? 

Nothing matters anymore, not even this damn war. He knows he can’t die here, not when Kupala remains vulnerable to the horrors of this ugly world, so living without Yuri must be his penance.  
  
He keeps punching and the corpse below him is desecrated to the point of being unrecognizable, and his fingers are starting to break, but Chevalier’s blood keeps pounding in his ears. The spell of blind bloodlust only falters when Hapi and Constance try to pull him away from Dominic, but he cries out and tries to shake them off. In the struggle he makes out the sound of Linhardt shouting for the Professor again, who finally notices the scene from his spot in the battlefield.  
  
The thought that they’re all alive while Yuri, the most beautiful soul to walk in the sun and underground, is dead on ground kindles his rage further. 

Balthus breaks free from the restraint of the girls to charge towards Byleth for killing Yuri. He knows that it isn’t Byleth’s fault that Yuri’s dead, because it’s his own, but if the Professor hadn’t showed up that day in Abyss with a bunch of snot-nosed Officers Academy kids, then maybe they could still be living their provincial life in Abyss undisturbed. And Yuri wouldn’t be dead, _dead_ , having traded his life for Balthus’s own. Just as Balthus’s fist rears to collide into Byleth’s head, Byleth gets a funny look on his face like he’s meditating. 

And with the sound of shattering glass, everything stops. 

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: balthus goes sicko mode  
> chapter two will be posted soon :)  
> ik this is a rarepair with a small fandom, but it would mean a lot if the few who read would leave a comment sharing your thoughts!! this is the first time i have ever written a fic for a pairing other than hikoma (sdr2) so i'm a little nervous lol. but what can i say, balthuri randomly grabbed me by the tits and never let me go.  
> if you want to talk to me about this pairing, you can find me on my twitter m0shim0chi ! thanks for reading!! ❤⃛ヾ(๑❛ ▿ ◠๑ )


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